


The Squire of Gothos Respectfully Requests Your Augmented Attendance

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Other, ipreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: When the Bakerstreet encounters a planet floating alone in space, they don't expect to find breathable atmosphere. They certainly don't expect to be invited by the eccentric and powerful being there to a ball.The duel, that was Sherlock's idea.





	1. Other POV

Lucy had to pee. At thirty weeks, her baby was pressing down hard on her bladder, so she always had to pee. Always. She did her business. Awkwardly. The way she did everything these days. Awkwardly. Sat back down at her work station. Awkwardly.

Awkward was the least part of being pregnant. There were the treatments for gestational diabetes and preeclampsia. "Because little one," she rubbed her belly, "you are doing a number on my body." It was a little too late to look up her mama's health records. Her mama hadn't said much about her pregnancy other than she'd thought she was having boy. How she'd decorated a room in the house all in boy's colors and toys for a boy.

That all had to be thrown out when Lucy came and ruined everything. Then Mama had wanted the doctor to remove Lucy's penis and have her vaginal area surgically altered to be like a normal woman's. A Normal Human woman. Thankfully that sort of procedure had been outlawed on infants after the Intersex Rights act of 2301.

Somehow Mama had considered that something Lucy had ruined too.

"You're not ruining anything," she told her belly firmly. "John's got me on all sorts of pills to keep us from having seizures and dying. Isn't that nice." Baby kicked, which wasn't exactly what she'd been going for.

Still, she rubbed her belly. "It's all good baby. Never going to leave you behind. Never you going to lock you up and hide what you are."

At least as an Augment, she probably wouldn't have to sorry about vaginal tearing like Normal Humans had to deal with. She'd been reading and the idea that most Human women were still bleeding six months after giving birth was pretty horrifying.

It was funny after all of Grandma's lectures, Lucy was having a space baby. At least she and Freddy had gotten to know each other reasonably well. They had nothing in common other than a baby, but they could be friends. Friends tied together forever by a rapidly growing fetus.

Although, the downside of being an Augment was she'd most likely go into post-partum heat, so sickbay would need to be cleared of anyone who could affected. Suppressants could have serious side-affects for Augments during pregnancy.

Which meant Sherlock, Hatherley, and Bailey would need to be kept out.

She tried to imagine any of them attending the birth of her baby. It was a small ship, but still, she barely knew Hatherley. He'd come to a few of the Augment mixers when he'd been dating John, but after they broke up, he stuck to engineering.

Bailey had begun their transition, but it would be at least a year of treatments before those sort of instincts started kicking in. Not that Lucy would say anything, but she had no idea why anyone would want to be an Alpha. Sure, no more heats, but developing a fleshy bump at the base of her penis sounded horrible.

She was now on a first name basis with Sherlock. They'd done a considerable amount of work together studying the effects of the Ceti Sexus Pollinis on Andorian reproduction. His knowledge of biology was incredible. Full of horror stories about how she was never going to pee normally again, bone density loss, anemia, and the possibility that her lady parts could just fall apart, which she had never even heard was a thing, along with a dozen other side effects from pregnancy.

She hoped he didn't talk like that with John.

She rubbed her belly. "Mama won't win her square in the pool if he does." Baby kicked. "Who am I kidding. Hudson will win the pool. Because, Sherlock and John," she shifted awkwardly in her chair, "have the emotional maturity of five year olds. Yes, they do."

Baby drummed an agreement on Lucy's internal organs.


	2. Sherlock POV

_There was an annoying bell ringing outside Sherlock's mind palace, and just as he'd begun examining the information gathered so far about the vampiric hydrogen, and therefore flying, jelly fish of Taupea V._

Sherlock opened his eyes.

The ship's computer said, "Five minutes until your dinner with Mr. Watson."

Sherlock abandoned the flying vampiric jelly fish and their very intriguing method of controlling their victims in favor of a far more interesting activity.

For the last six months, he and John had had a standing meeting to dine together each Friday evening. Except, of course, when they were captured by a society of humans who'd been plucked from Meso America on Earth during the tenth century by monolith building aliens, and who subsequently never developed past that point in history, or some other adventure.

Life was wonderful.

Life was perfect.

John was making regular trips to the holodeck so that aspect of his life was being well maintained.

Sherlock was certain to double check that John always cleared holodeck's memory each time. After all, there could be additional attempts to access the Bakerstreet's databases by bad actors and Mycroft.

There was the ever present dread that the current situation could not last. Like the chiming bells outside his memory palace.

Given what Sherlock had observed about John's libido, and his preference for _real_ things, eventually, John would seek out renewed sexual relations with one or more partners.

Best not to think about it.

For now, they had dinner. And morning briefings. And away missions. And occasions John dropped by the bridge to watch the stars go by, which was even more pleasant now that Sherlock had had Khel modify the command chair into a command sofa.

John could sit next to Sherlock.

Sherlock could go barefoot and then because his feet were cold, warm them under John.

It was lovely.

Sherlock straightened his uniform before going into John's quarters, which quite naturally smelled like John.

Also, butter chicken. Sherlock had no intention of eating this butter chicken, but he appreciated that John liked to try.

John pointed his fork at Sherlock. "Eat, you giant tit. I spent at least an hour cooking this.

Sherlock didn't understand why John liked to cook when there were replicators, but he claimed the food tasted better.

Sherlock scraped his fork through the butter chicken and moved the rice around. He put a few grains into his mouth. He paused analyzing the flavors. "Is that Andorian parsley?"

John hummed. He'd begun using a wider array of ingredients in a blatant attempt to induce Sherlock to eat the food he prepared. Sherlock wondered what John would say if he admitted his preferred food before Starfleet was nutrient balanced algae paste.

But best not. That was something to be saved until John was insisting that Sherlock should eat while on a mission; something Sherlock was just as determined not to do.

Sherlock took a bite of chicken. His eyes widened. "Klingon death pheasant?" He tapped the side of his plate with his fork. "Klingons claim it sings a warning to the underworld when a warrior has fallen on the battlefield that a great warrior is coming."

"Not telling." John smiled down at his plate. A strand of blond hair fell forward over his brow. Visually, it appeared to have the same tactile consistency of silk. Certainly, the memory of it in Sherlock's hands was like silk. He shifted his hand remembering the feeling. A spoon rolled out the floor. John bent down to get it. The curve of his back reminded Sherlock of nothing. No thoughts. _Quiet dust motes perhaps drifting in his memory palace's library._

Sherlock luxuriated in the warmth of John's smile. He sat in his chair breathing quietly. Taking in information. Rolling it over and over in his mind. Observing the twist of John's body as he stood to open the wine.

There would not be any offers for massages, which in no way disappointed Sherlock, because his body was merely transport. But later John would sit very close next to him on the couch while forcing him to watch an old drama on his wall monitor.

Really, Sherlock could not imagine any greater feeling of intimacy than these evenings. Observing, deducing, and recording every moment, as the evening spooled out.


	3. John POV

Julian was treating Hunter for a pulled muscle on the other side of sickbay. His display was flickering again.

Crewman Stonn had uploaded a patch the week before and ever since, Julian flickered. John had reported the bug, but if it kept up much longer, he was going to ask Sherlock to just revert Julian.

"Are you ready?" John asked Lucy.

She nodded. "Yeah, more than ready."

John put up the privacy shield.

He turned on the bio-bed's monitor showing the fetus coming along nicely. He looked over the display, but it wasn't necessary to do a secondary scan. "Congratulations. You're having a girl. Unless she decides differently, of course."

"A girl." Lucy sat up and looked at the image. "Boy, girl, or intersex, she's an Augment."

"Of course," said John. "She's your daughter."

"Don't, of course." Lucy rested her hands on her stomach. Rubbing the rounded skin gently. "My Mamma didn't knew she was an Augment. No obvious traits. Had never gotten a genetic text." She looked down. "No scent receptors. Didn't go into heat. Not… intersex."

John didn't interrupt her to go into all the non-Augmented instances of intersex births.

"The obvious trait." She looked down. "She married an alpha from South Africa. She thought she was having a boy, doctor didn't do a secondary scan, and then I was born." She shrugged. "My dad was fine with it, but Mom, she didn't handle it well. Didn't handle the prejudices associated with being married to an alpha either. So, when dad died," she shook her head, "she handed me over to grandma and left South Africa for a job in England."

John rubbed Lucy's shoulder. "That's terrible."

"Oh, it gets better. She decided that she was missing me, so she had me move into the town where she was living, but she didn't want anyone to know that she'd had an Augment kid. That she had Augment DNA. So she had me wear one of those force field bubble outfits with the yellow masks. For kids who have immune syndrome issues."

"You're right, that is worse." John had never heard Lucy mention any of this back at the Academy. Then again, he wasn't sure it was a story he'd just want to casually tell a classmate. He ached for the little girl Lucy had been.

"Fortunately, her supervisor figured out what was going on, and reported her. She was manadated to go to therapy. The authorities got me out of the bubble suit. First time I breathed fresh air, I almost cried." She stroked her hand on her belly. "I'm not going to let my baby think she's anything other than what she is. Augmented and proud."

He squeezed her hand. "You'll have the support of every Augment on board."

She brightened. "I think Khatri is throwing me a shower."

"Oh, yeah, she's throwing a shower all right." John did not say that Khatri had made clear to every Omega on board that they were to hand make items for the baby or to consider themselves dead to her. Which was fine for Khatri. She knew how to knit. John was sewing blocks of fabric from various worlds into a blanket, but so far it looked more lumpy than blanket like.

John finished giving Lucy her checkup. Made some adjustments for the treatments for her gestational diabetes and some more medications to keep her blood pressure down.

They made an appointment for the following week.

He checked his schedule. He probably ought to buckle down and study anti-viral treatments in silica based lifeforms, but he didn't particularly feel like.

He decided to drop in on the bridge and see if anything was going on. They were going through a star desert, so John didn't expect there would be much to see. But the company would be nice.

Sherlock was excited about something. His musky scent had a slightly sharp tinge. "John," he grinned, "There's a rogue planet."

John came out of the turbo lift. "How rogue?"

"There's no star and it has a heavy iron composition," said Hudson. "But…"

Sherlock bounced up onto his feet. "There's a small pocket of breathable environment with a temperate climate."

"How is that even possible?" asked John coming closer.

"I cannot speculate without facts," said Sherlock, with eyes that were shining green and gold just then, twinkling in a way that said there was a mystery at hand and John could join in.

Donovan wearily said, "I have to protest either of you going to the planet."

"You do insist on protesting," said Sherlock. "Nevertheless, we shall go down. Hudson, you have command."

They beamed down with Cho from Security, and Riley, the ship's geologic and atmospheric specialist. Riley immediately began scanning the environment. "Sir, I don't see how this is possible. I see no sign of volcanic activity or any other sources of the current temperature."

"As an initial observation, we should examine the castle on the hill," said Sherlock very dryly.

John turned and there was the most gothic castle that he could possibly imagine perched darkly on a brooding hill top. It was the sort of fortification that every castle Dunsinane from every performance of the Scottish play ever wanted to look like but probably didn't. There were black stone walls with dark towers topped in dark red tile, and the whole thing was decorated with hideous gargoyles. It was a mad set designers dream.

As they approached, something that looked like a Human wearing a blue velvet frock coat decorated with gold braid walked into view.

"Holmes?" said John questioningly.

"I know, there's no scent," said Sherlock.

Riley, scanning with their tricorder, said, "No life signs either. It's as if he isn't there."

"Hip-hip horray and I believe it is pronounced tally ho," said the man. "Visitors, what an incomparable delight. Allow me to introduce myself." The being bowed at the waist. "I am General Trelane, retired, and presently for this pleasant shire, a gentleman, a man of gentle estate, and the Squire of Gothos." He snapped his fingers and the castle's massive metal gate lifted, and the draw bridge lowered. "Come, you must enjoy my hospitality."

"Commander, I don't like the look of this," said Cho.

"Nonsense, nonsense. It's no imposition," said Trelane. "Utterly none. I'm simply delighted to be meeting you all for the first time. The very first time it is absolutely. Because you're linear lifeforms, who require a first time for everything."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John, who bowed and waved a hand at the castle. "Lay on Macduff."

Trelane led them through an overwrought courtyard where gargoyles riding on the backs of gargoyles. There were statues of alligators as rain spouts. An obsidian black fountain in the shape of a black dragon bubbling out green liquid. They went through a wide wooden door and into a drawing room full of the sort of dark wood paneling and baroque furnishings that matched Gothic revenge dramas.

John walked over to the fire roaring merrily from a hearth at one end of the room. A fire that gave off no heat.

Trelane said, "Where are my manners? Allow me to offer you refreshment." A snap of his fingers saw them all holding tiny cut crystal glasses full of brown odorless liquid.

John looked at his glass dubiously.

Sherlock took a tiny sip from his own glass. He said, "It has no flavor."

Trelane's face crumpled. "No, it's perfect." He flounced in a grand circle around the room. "Tell me it's perfect."

"That would be manifestly," began Sherlock.

Cho tensed.

Riley interjected, "General Squire, what I think the Commander meant, is that as a lower ranking military man of action, but lacking your obvious refinement, to him it lacked the rough flavor he would expect. Like the way I can't stand cilantro. Tastes like dishwater, but John here loves it."

John played along. "It's true. Cilantro brightens a dish."

"A chef," said Trelane, his expression changing. "Where's your hat?" He snapped his fingers and held a chef's hat in his hand. "You should wear the hat."

"He's a doctor," said Sherlock, pulling up that little bit straighter.

"Not yet a doctor," said John, felt compelled to add despite Sherlock's defense.

"Linear. A doctor. Not yet a doctor. Well, I say I don't have much use for doctors," said Trelane. He tapped his chin and wove his way through the cluttered furniture. "But a chef. Then I could have bright meals with cilantro in them." He held out the hat again. "Wear the hat."

"He doesn’t want to wear the hat," said Sherlock moving to stand between them.

Trelane snapped his fingers and Sherlock was gone.

Cho pulled out her phaser, pointing it at Trelane.

"Oh, don't bother." Trelane snapped his fingers again. Sherlock appeared, half bent over and coughing. Trelane said, "If you don't want another visit to the corn field, you'll behave."

John took the hat and with a certain amount of ill grace put it on. He checked Sherlock's condition, but beyond some lung irritation, that was healing far quicker than John would have thought possible, he appeared to be fine.

Trelane clapped his hands. "Splendid. Now I'll entertain you." He fluffed his frock coat and sat down at the seat in front of a white and gold harpsichord and played energetically, if not entirely musically.

Sherlock walked slowly around the room examining every item.

John whispered to Riley, "That was quick thinking earlier."

Riley said, "I get the impression that the Commander has never been low man on the totem pole." He shook their head. "I hate to think of what kind of terror was as a kid."

Trelane turned to face them. His harpsichord played on. "You're not listening to me. I'm in charge here. I'm the Squire. I have a perfectly enchanting evening planned."

"However, it's time for the party to end," said Sherlock. He tapped his com. "Hudson, beam up everyone with a life sign."


	4. Sherlock POV

The transporter whirred around them. Sherlock looked at the bland walls of Transporter Room One. Something needed to be done to match the other transporter room. Give the room some character.

"What happened back there?" asked John.

"Something dangerous and out of control," said Sherlock. He could survive inhaling chlorine gas, but he couldn't endanger John in the same way. "We should do a more extensive scan from the ship. See if we can identify any holo projectors or other machinery that would match what we observed.

Unfortunately, it would appear that whatever was informing Trelane's appearance, it extended beyond the planet. He appeared in front of them. "You are not very good at hiding. I found you almost immediately." He shrugged. "But what can I expect for such linear beings." He rubbed his hands together. "I've decided that I'm throwing a ball at Gothos hall." Trelane chortled at his own rhyme and snapped his fingers.

They appeared in a narrow ballroom. Interestingly, just as in the parlor there was a gilt mirror on the wall with a particular gold frame.

Sherlock's clothing had changed from his uniform into a black velvet frock coat similar to Trelane's. While John was entirely dressed in white in chef's clothing. They were not the only ones.

Every Omega and female member of the crew was there dressed in clothes from England's Regency era. The majority of the women were in pale pastels, but for some reason Hudson was wearing a brilliant red dress from a century earlier than the other women, and was wearing a massive wig on her head with a sailing ship woven into the white curls.

Trelane said to Hudson. "Do you like the ship? I made it myself. You should look at yourself in the mirror." Although, Sherlock noted that Trelane himself did not look in the mirror.

Sherlock moved to meet Hudson's gaze. Hudson said, "It does remind me of a cameo I saw at the Vatican. But that one was dirty and cloudy. Not as bright and white as this one." So, she was able to sense Trelane, but not read his thoughts.

"Wonderful." Trelane looked around and sighed. "Oh, no, a ball, and there aren't enough gentlemen to dance with all the ladies. I shall charge into the breach." He grabbed Donovan's hand. "Fair lady, waltz with me."

"No." She pulled her hand out of his, making the pink Ostridge plume threaded through the bun at the back of her head bounce. "I'm not fair and I'm not a lady." She looked down at the long white silk gloves on her arms and pale pastel fabric. "What am I wearing?"

Trelane pursed his lips. "Something that matches our game." He spun her around to face the mirror. "See. Much better." He crossed his arms. "Now this is a ball. We're supposed to have dancing. I'm the most eligible bachelor in the entire shire. I'm the Squire." He giggled.

"I still don’t want to dance with you," gritted Donovan.

Trelane frowned. "If you don't want to play the game, then you're going to have to go to the corn field. That's where people who don't play the right way get punished."

Donovan was annoying and judgmental, and given what Sherlock had observed about her healing as a result of the treatment she'd received as a child she could quite possibly could survive the corn field, but Sherlock did not particularly want to take any chances. He drew on several movies that John had inflicted on him and said, "Sir, I take offense at how you are treating this woman. I demand satisfaction."

"I don't need your help, I can," began Donovan, who thankfully ceased speaking when Hudson sharply elbowed her.

"A duel," said Trelane with a delighted expression and clapping his hands. "Oh, this marvelous. As the one challenged, I get to pick the weapons." He looked at Hudson. "Those are the rules and we have to follow the rules or society will be chaos." He snapped his fingers. A wooden case appeared on a small side table. He flipped it open to reveal two antique revolvers.

Lucy asked, "Squire Trelane, who is your second?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. She'd observed something. As her intelligence was adequate, he didn't interrupt her.

"What?" asked Trelane, looking confused.

"That's the rules of a challenge. You have a friend, your second, and the Commander's second talk to see if the Commander wishes to withdraw his challenge. If not, then you need to write letters to your families, in case one of you dies. Then you need to get a doctor to attend the duel."

"Oh!" Trelane clasped his hands together over his white lacy cravate. "We have one of those. I change my mind entirely. You can be the doctor, not the chef." He snapped his fingers and John was dressed in brown tweed and holding a leather medical case. "This is so much fun. I am so glad you came to visit." His face clouded over. "But I don't have a second. There's no one."

Sherlock looked at John, wondering if he would possibly be interested in agreeing to be Sherlock's second, but no. They were colleagues. The occasional dinner and incandescent sexual encounters while under the influence of outside influences not-withstanding.

"I'll be Sherlock's second," said John, raising his chin. Sherlock's heart beat an extra beat.

"Ahh… no, you need to be the doctor," said Lucy. She rolled her eyes. "Also, I don't know the Hamilton libretto as well as you do, which you really ought to sing for the squire." She smiled brightly at Trelane. "Hudson will be Trelane's second and I'll be the Commander's second. While John here will sing to you about how to have a duel." She pushed Trelane towards John. "Now we have to withdraw to discuss the sad fate that lies before us."

"Excellent, choice, dear," said Hudson.

Lucy came over to Sherlock, which was not the order of individuals he wanted standing next to him while planning a daring escape.

John began an animated explanation to the fascinated Trelane about a musical production called Hamilton. An adequate distraction, which Sherlock could not afford to be distracted by.

Lucy said, "Commander, I don't think Trelane's an adult. He grabbed every omega and woman on the ship, and changed our clothes, but look at the way we're dressed. Very prim and proper. Long skirts. High necks. He wants to dance with Donovan, but the way he talks about it, it's because that's what you do at a ball. He's just as interested in the duel."

Hudson tilted her head to one side and nearly fell over from the weight of the ship. John helped her right it, while Trelane laughed and clapped. Hudson said, "That's right! You're just like a naughty little boy."

"See," said Lucy. "The sort of stupid silly behavior you get up to when you're a kid. Remember when you were a kid."

_In the basement of his memory palace, Redbeard howled._

_That made sense. It was built upon the vault where Sherlock had buried and locked away his early childhood for no doubt extremely good reasons._

_Another mournful howl._

Sherlock could hear John singing in a lovely tenor something about the Ten Duel Commandments, but he didn't have time to listen.

_He considered trying to remember his early childhood. Redbeard licked at his hand as he looked at the locked door. Bad things happened when he tried to open it. He'd never met any children. There had been none in the palace where he'd grown up. They didn’t allow children to serve in Starfleet._

Without any corroborating evidence, he would have to accept Lucy and Hudson's assertions that this was childish behavior.

Hudson shook her finger at Trelane and again spoke in a raised voice, meant for them as well as Trelane. "Where there is a child, there must be parents not far behind."

"Not necessarily," muttered Lucy, with a pinched expression. He'd already observed that there had been a split with her maternal figure, while her father had died when she was young. "They could have abandoned him. Left with some way to control his environment and left him here."

If Sherlock did not have time for his own trauma, he certainly didn't have time for Lucy's. Sherlock looked at the mirror that had been in both locations. He said, "Tell Trelane that I don't withdraw my challenge. When we duel, I need to be sure that I am facing that mirror."

Lucy went back to Hudson. "He doesn't withdraw the challenge. Will you apologize, or is the duel on?

Trelane pointed his finger at the ceiling. "The duel is on. On. On. On. And Commander, you should know I never miss." He rubbed his hands together. "Now we get to write sad letters to our parents who'll be very sorry when we're dead." He snapped his fingers and a writing desk appeared in front of him. He said to Hudson, "You're my second. What should I write?"

"Oh, I think the doctor could suggest some things," said Hudson. "He's so much better at that than I am."

Trelane insisted that Sherlock write his own letter with long descriptions of his possible demise and how sad his parents would be when he was dead.

_A cold wind blew as Trelane said that, which was nonsense. If Sherlock had evidence of anything, it was that Mummy and his fathers valued the significance of their DNA being mixed within Sherlock. Then again, it was nothing that could not be replicated. Look at Mycroft._

When they were finally done, Lucy arranged them back to back and instructed them to take ten paces, and turn.

Trelane sang as they stepped. They turned and Trelane raised his pistol to point at the ceiling. He fired it. "Now I'm at your mercy." He giggled.

Sherlock aimed. Not at Trelane, but at the mirror behind him. 

The bullet shattered the mirror exposing a complicated machine that chirped and went dark. Around them, the castle shuddered. Their absurd clothing was replaced by their uniforms. Telane shouted, "No, no, no, you broke it. Go away. You're dead to me."

Sherlock found himself sitting on the bridge. John was sitting next to him. John said, "How did you know to destroy the mirror?"

"Lucy and Hudson appeared to be under the impression that Trelane was some form of child. The lack of warmth to his fire. The lack of flavor to his alcohol. The high necks to the clothing. His silly sense of humor. He had to have some form of machine that was helping him control his environment."

"Brilliant," said John.

_Hearth fires lit that held off the cold breeze. Sunshine glowed through the windows._

Sherlock felt himself flush slightly. "Not entirely. He was able to transport us here." To test a theory, Sherlock said, "Hunter, take us out of orbit."

As the Bakerstreet moved out of orbit, the rogue planet followed them. Every direction they went, the planet was in the way.

Trelane appeared on the main monitor. "If you could see your faces." He laughed. "You're so stupid. You're going to have to be punished." He pointed at Sherlock. "You especially. And… and, I don't like your song anymore, Doctor."

He snapped his fingers and Sherlock and John were seated in a courtroom. Trelane wore a judge's wig. "I declare you guilty and the sentence is death." A set of gallows lowered itself from the ceiling. "You will hang from the neck until you are dead, dead, dead."

Sherlock made himself laugh, as if he didn't care. "Isn't it all too easy?"

"What do you mean?" said Trelane.

"This," Sherlock waved at the courtroom. "Snap your fingers and the planet moves. Snap your fingers and we're being executed. If you're a general, a squire, then you're interested in a sporting chance."

"Oooh," said Trelane. "I like it. I'll hunt you in an African safari. No, wait. The old west. I want to be a cowboy or the cavalry." He snapped his fingers and Trelane was wearing a blue eighteen hundreds American cavalry uniform. "Oh, this is too dull." He snapped his fingers again and he was wearing an Eastern European cavalry outfit from the mid eighteen hundreds. The sort of thing that Sherlock's first father loved wearing. It was absolutely covered in gold braid. Trelane said, "Yes, this is much better." He waved at them. "Run."

Sherlock looked down at the handcuffs connecting him to John. He turned his hand to clasp John's warm hand. They took off through the door, which led directly into a dense forest.

"You who," called Trelane after them.

"What's the plan?" asked John.

"Stall," said Sherlock. He picked up John to boost him over a rock. Their bodies brushed against each other. Warm. John's scent intoxicating. His lips bare inches from his own until Sherlock pushed him over the rock, and then other things were bare inches from his lips. Which since Sherlock's body was mere transport, he did nothing about.

John helped Sherlock up and they resumed running, hand in hand.

John pulled them in the direction of the husk of a burnt out tree and into the shelter inside it. "I," his warm breath puffed up in the cold air. "I just… if this doesn’t go well."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John put his hand over his lips. Calloused from handling medical equipment. Making Sherlock's lips tingle.

"Let me finish this. I just… it's been an honor to be your friend." John lifted his chin. "You should know that I consider you my best friend."

Sherlock's heart thudded in his chest and not from running. John's fingers were still against his lips. Sherlock pulled them away to hold both of John's hands. "As you are mine." He leaned down, his forehead against John's.

"I want to have a best friend," said Trelane from outside the tree. There was a snap and it was gone. Hudson stood under the tree near Trelane, who said, "Hudders, be my best friend."

"You don't know what it is to have a friend," said John, fiercely. Sherlock ached with how brave he was.

Trelane said, "Well, you're stupid." He waved a cavalry saber at them.

Sherlock snatched it from Trelane's hands. Snapping it in half over his leg.

"You broke my… now you're going to get it." Trelane snapped his fingers and a wind began to blow. "You'll see. I'll show my best friend how amazing I am."

Hudson shouted, "Please, no!"

Two glowing green lights appeared above them, hovering in the air. "Q," said a high thin voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Mom! I told you to call me Trelane! I'm not just Q. Everyone is Q. I'm Trelane. And he broke my sword," said Trelane, crossing his arms.

"If you can't play with your friends nicely, then you need to come home," said a second voice.

"Dad! No!" Trelane stomped his foot. "No. No. No. They're my friends. They came to visit me. You can't make me give them up."

"What do you think, Q," said the second voice. "The scarecrow or the corn field?"

"Q, the corn field is too harsh," said the first voice. "He is only two cosmic ages old after all. But Q does need to spend time as the scarecrow and think about their behavior."

Abruptly, Sherlock found himself back on the bridge next to John. Hudson sat down heavily in the only chair available. But what Sherlock cared about was John had called him his best friend.

Best friends could sit next to each other on a couch. Or now that Khel had finished designing the changes for his ready room – the ursine skin rug in front of the faux fireplace was a brilliant notion – they could spend time together reading in front of the fireplace.

"Sir, the rogue planet is gone," said Hunter, cutting into his thoughts.

"He was just a kid," said John. "A really powerful naughty kid. Pulling pranks." He smiled reminiscently. "Harry and I were always getting into it when we were younger. Although," he smiled, "hard to imagine you and Mycroft getting into knock down drag out fights."

_Sherlock's earliest memory. Mycroft looking down at him. Himself lying in a hospital bed. Blinking his eyes open at the monitor behind his bed displaying readings for the electrical activity in his mind. Shaking off Mycroft's hand as he sat up to stand on wobbly thin legs. Being called William, when that wasn't his name._

He said simply. "No."

Sherlock looked down at their wrists, which were still very much handcuffed together.

He resisted the urge to turn his hand to once again clasp John's, and instead cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he lifted his hand, "we should deal with this."

"Ta," laughed John. "Let me show you how to pick a lock."

Sherlock necessarily followed John into his ready room, even if he wasn't entirely ready to be freed. Even if when John looked up, lock picks in hand and said, "I meant what I said. You're my best friend."

Flushing, Sherlock mumbled at the cuff that no longer connected them. "As you are mine."

It was certainly true.

Baffling that John would think of him that way, but true.

**Author's Note:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Squire_of_Gothos_(episode)
> 
> And now you know why Lucy Hebron is Lucy Hebron. Not that you probably thought there needed to be a reason, but I wanted to work in the story described in  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventure_of_the_Yellow_Face
> 
> By the way, I was talking about pelvic prolapse with the lady parts falling into each other. After having John and Sherlock using all the medical terms, I kind of wanted to go with "that's not my field of expertise and raised by a little old lady" way of discussing the human body.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pelvic_organ_prolapse  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Complications_of_pregnancy


End file.
